Dream Thief

by Stephen Lawhead

  “Not long. A couple of minutes maybe.”

  “It is too hot to be traveling on foot in the daytime,” said Gita. He had been saying that ever since they struck out on the road without stopping that morning. “I think we should rest.”

  “No, we go on,” replied Spence firmly. “Maybe we’ll find some transportation—Gaur is just ahead, didn’t you say?”

  “Sunstroke is nothing to sneer at. Spencer Reston.” Gita’s dark complexion had taken on a distinct ruddy tint. The exertion of their trip was telling on him.

  “We should rest a while anyway. Gita is right. It is getting too hot to be tramping around in the middle of the day. We can move on at dusk.”

  Spence squinted up his eyes and gazed skyward. The white-hot ball of the sun seemed to strike down at them with a fury— perhaps it had been a touch of sunstroke which had felled him.

  Perhaps. But there was something else, too. He remembered calling out for Ari when it had struck, and he still vaguely felt that she—or someone else—was trying to get in touch with him in some way.

  He lowered his gaze to regard Gita and Adjani. Black spots swam before his eyes and he reeled unsteadily.

  “Sunstroke,” repeated Gita. “It is not good.”

  “We’d better rest, Spence. For a couple of hours at least.”

  Spence nodded and they moved up the road a few meters to a huge spreading banyan tree, there to recline in the shade among the snaking branches and hanging trunks.

  He sipped some more water and sat for a while with his head in his hands. The landscape far to the north wavered like a projection on a fluttering screen as waves of heat rose up from the land. He had not noticed the heat before, but was acutely aware of it now.

  Gita’s bulbous blue-turbanned head found a rock to prop itself on and soon his snores filled the air with a sleepy sound. Flies buzzing among the interwoven limbs of the tree droned on, and Spence felt the strain and tension melt away.

  He lay back against the cool bark of one of the tree’s innumerable trunks and stretched his legs out before him. At once he felt more relaxed. He sat for a time listening to the snores and the flies and the occasional bird call and let sleep steal over him.

  THE SUN WAS ORANGE and already reaching toward the horizon when Spence woke up again. Gita still snored, and he could hear the slow regular rhythm of Adjani’s breath rising and falling in the shade nearby. The flies still buzzed around their heads, and the birds still chattered in the upper boughs of the tree.

  But there was something else, too. And that something else, whatever it was, had brought him out of his nap.

  He listened, straining into the silence of the forest around them, not moving a muscle. It came again almost in answer to his search—a muffled snort and a low rustling sound as if something big was moving through the underbrush. The sound trailed off as he listened and it sounded further off than he remembered, though he could not be sure—he had first heard it in his sleep.

  Spence got to his feet and stepped back out onto the road. He paused to listen again and then began walking along the roadside in the direction they had been traveling. His senses were pricked sharp and he had an unaccountable feeling of being directed to seek out the source of the sound which he could not explain. He glanced back toward the tree where Adjani and Gita still slept and then hurried away on his chase.

  The road dipped just ahead into a narrow valley. As Spence reached the crown of the hill and started down into the valley he thought he saw something dart away into the brush at the side of the road. There was just a blur of movement as he swung his eyes to the spot and then the quiver of roadside branches where the thing had entered.

  Although he did not know what it was that he followed, he strongly suspected that it was not human. He had ceased to think about the possibility of encountering another band of goondas, although the likelihood of meeting them on the road was just as great as before.

  Closer, Spence slowed and crouched, moving with as much stealth as he could manage. The inner voice which had roused him said, “Go on! Quietly!” He obeyed.

  He slid to the side of the road where the bushes grew thick and nearly impenetrable. He could hear the sound of leaves rustling and branches snapping. A hollow snuffling, like the wheeze of an expiring engine, came filtering through the brush, and then the noise stopped.

  Spence did not move a hair. He remained half-crouched and half-standing, peering into the dense growth, and he had the uncanny sensation of being examined by someone or something unknown.

  There was a muffled footfall. Slow and deliberate; moving toward him.

  The bushes right before him shook their leaves gently and then he saw something long and thin moving out snakelike from the wall of hedge.

  Instinctively he jumped back. The thing withdrew in the same instant.

  But he had seen something, even as he jumped, that told him what he wanted to know—a small pink lip and two nostrils.

  He stooped down and pulled up a handful of long grass by the roots and moved back out onto the road.

  He lifted his voice and called out, “Simba! Come! Simba! Now!”

  He waited and nothing happened, though he could sense the thing waiting for him. He repeated his odd summons, extending the grass in his hand.

  Then came a soft snort and the bushes shook and parted, and out stepped a great gray elephant.

  The beast advanced on Spence slowly, warily, trunk wavering, reaching out, scenting him. It stepped closer with ponderous grace and shook its huge head from side to side, ears flapping as it tried to make up its mind about him. Then it saw the grass he held, and the trunk swung down and nuzzled the offering.

  Spence flattened his palm, and the elephant took the gift in with a facile movement of the tip of the flexible appendage and swung it up into its mouth.

  “Nice Simba,” said Spence softly. “Steady, girl. Nobody is going to hurt you.” He continued speaking softly and reassuringly as he looked the creature over from a distance.

  That the elephant was in distress he noticed at once, for as soon as it had stepped free of the surrounding brush he saw the empty howdah on its broad back. Clearly it had run away after becoming separated from its mahout.

  Then he saw the reason—blood trickled down from the animal’s shoulder and there was a ragged, raw piece missing from its ear. There was blood on the ear as well.

  Goondas, thought Spence. They had attacked the driver and his passengers and the elephant had escaped. He did not know whether elephants were at all common in that part of India, but very little surprised him about the country anymore. He could as easily imagine a caravan of elephants as a convoy of clanking antique sedans.

  The elephant, having accepted the peace offering from the nonaggressive human, decided to accept the man as well. It stepped closer; he remained rock still. The trunk swung out and began examining him thoroughly, poking at the pockets of his jumpsuit and snuffling at his neck and wrists.

  He endured the scrutiny with dignity and self-control, marveling that a beast so large could move so deftly. He called it gently, raising his hand to caress its trunk, feeling the quivering warmth of the creature. “Simba, easy now. I’m your friend. I’m going to take care of you. Good girl. Good Simba.”

  The trunk curled around his hand and pressed its pink lip against his palm. He stroked the trunk and then stepped closer to pat the huge cheek. “Would you like to come home with me, huh? You would? All right, then. Follow me. Come along.”

  He stepped away from the animal and turned his back. He walked slowly and deliberately, restraining the impulse to stop and look back to see if the elephant were following. He wanted to act as if he expected the animal to obey him as it would obey its proper master.

  Spence was rewarded when he felt a slight tug at his arm and looked down to see the tip of the trunk curl around his wrist. He patted the trunk and walked on.

  When they reached the banyan tree the two stopped and Spence called out, “Wake up, gu
ys! I found us some transportation.”

  Adjani was the first one on his feet. “Hey!” he shouted in amazement. “Where did you get that?” He advanced slowly and came to stand in front of the beast and a little apart from it, letting it get used to him.

  “Careful, you’ll hurt her feelings. This is Simba, and she’s agreed to take us the rest of the way to Darjeeling.”

  Adjani wrinkled his face and peered at Spence askance. “You pretend to know this animal?”

  “Not at all,” admitted Spence. “I thought all elephants were named Simba. I found her just up the road. She’s been hurt.”

  Gita, hearing the commotion, rose up slowly, rubbing his eyes. He took one look at the great creature and let out a shriek. “Save us!” he cried, throwing his hands in the air. But seeing that everything seemed to be in order, and that the elephant was munching proffered grass, not attacking Adjani, he got up and joined his friends.

  “A real elephant!” he said proudly over and over as he looked at it from every angle. “I knew there were still some of these magnificent animals in the north country, but I never dreamed I’d see one.”

  “Are they so rare then?” wondered Spence.

  “Oh, yes, very rare indeed. No one is allowed to own one but the high government officials. They are much protected and used as official vehicles by the regional governors—just as in the time of the Maharajahs. Better than a motor car.”

  “Well, this one wasn’t protected enough,” said Spence. “She’s been shot. Go get your bundle of medicine and we’ll see what we can do for her.”

  At this Gita threw up his hands once more. “Shot? Oh, merciful heaven! Who would shoot a governor’s elephant? Who would do such a thing?”

  “Goondas is my guess.”

  “If that’s true,” said Adjani, “we might find the rest of the party up the road at the scene of the ambush.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Do you think any goondas are still around?”

  “Not if they attacked a government carrier. They’d have hit and run pretty fast. They’d be far away from here by now. Reprisals in such instances are fairly swift and bloody.”

  Gita came back with his medical sack and laid it on the ground. “I don’t have enough medicine to treat an elephant,” he lamented.

  “Don’t worry; I don’t think she’s hurt very bad. Here, take a look yourself.”

  Spence pointed out the torn ear and the wound in the shoulder behind it. Gita probed the wound with his fingers while Adjani kept her busy with bunches of grass.

  “The bullet did not enter the flesh,” announced Doctor Gita after his inspection. “It was deflected off the hide, probably due to the angle of the shot and an inferior bullet—they often load them from used casings, you know. We will rub some sulfa into the wound and smear on some mud to keep the flies out of it and keep it from getting infected. In a few days she’ll be beautiful again.”

  “Will she trust us to ride her, do you think?”

  Gita’s eyes grew round. “You intend to ride this animal?”

  “Certainly. All the way to Darjeeling. You shouldn’t act so surprised. I said we’d need some transportation and here it is.”

  Gita went away muttering to himself in an incomprehensible babble. Adjani laughed and Spence patted the animal on the jaw and looked into Simba’s calm blue-brown eye and said, “You’ll have to help us, girl. This is our first time. Show us what to do when the time comes. All right?”

  The elephant seemed to wink at him and encircled his neck with her trunk.

  “Good girl. Good Simba. We’re going to be all right.”

  Gita came back with a pile of mud on a large leaf. He sprinkled sulfa from a brown bottle into his hand and gently worked it into the wound in the elephant’s side. That done, he smeared the mud over it as a bandage. “Well, we have done what we can.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “Do you know how to drive this thing?” asked Adjani.

  “No, but it can’t be too hard. I’ve seen it in old movies. Let’s see.” Spence walked to the head of the elephant and said, “Down, girl. Down, Simba.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Mehrbani se, Simba,” said Adjani.

  The elephant lifted its trunk and nodded, sinking down on its knees laboriously.

  “I thought you didn’t know anything about elephants,” said Spence.

  “He doesn’t,” Gita quipped. “It just means please in Hindi.”

  Adjani smiled and spread his hands. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “Well, who first?” asked Spence.

  “It is your elephant, sahib. You go first.” Adjani patted him on the shoulder.

  “All right, cowards. I will. All you do is grab an ear and …” Spence stepped up on the elephant’s knee and took hold of its right ear and swung himself up behind the head. “Nothing to it.”

  Adjani followed and climbed into the howdah. Then it was Gita’s turn. He stood trembling on the ground. “Well, come on. You can’t walk all the way with us and we can’t leave you behind for the goondas. You might as well get it over with.”

  “It is easy for you. Spencer Reston. But I have a wife and five beautiful daughters. A man must think of his family.”

  “Come on, Gita, we’re wasting time.” Already the shadows of the forest were moving across the road and in among the trees, deepening in shades of blue.

  Spence reached down his hand. “Come on; your people have been doing this for a million years at least.”

  Gita bit his lower lip and handed up his bundles. Then he clasped Spence’s hand and scrambled up. He did not stop scrambling until he was in the howdah, clutching the sides.

  “All aboard?” called Spence. “Here we go. What’s the word, Adjani?”

  “Mehrbani se.”

  At the command the elephant rose up and began walking. Spence found that she was easily steered with a gentle kick behind the ear—with the right foot to turn right, with the left foot for left. A kick with both feet simultaneously made the elephant go faster.

  Off they trundled, swaying like kings of old aboard their fabled mounts with tusks sheathed in gold. Spence found the ride exciting.

  “This is what I call going in style!” he shouted over his shoulder to his passengers.

  “Now do you believe?” Adjani yelled back.

  “I’m beginning to,” Spence said to himself. “I think I’m beginning to.”

  15

  TOWARD MORNING SPENCE WAS awakened by the sound of thunder in the hills. As the sun came up, a leaden rain started leaning out of low murky clouds. The three stirred themselves and sat huddled under the banyan tree that had sheltered them through the night. They munched soft overripe mangoes and sweet pears Gita had bought for them in the last marketplace and waited for the rain to stop.

  “It might go all day,” remarked Gita sagely. “It often does this time of year. We are nearing the rainy season.”

  “If it doesn’t stop soon we’ll have to go on anyway,” said Spence. He had begun feeling more and more uncomfortable about Ari—a feeling somehow connected with his fainting spell the day before. He had a strong sense of danger where she was concerned, and this sense made him impatient to reach her as soon as possible.

  They waited half an hour more; Spence, leaning first against one of the trees’ trunks and then another, was soon pacing like a caged bear. “It isn’t going to stop,” he announced, arriving at the end of his patience. “Let’s go on.”

  Gita made a face like a man smelling rotten eggs. He heaved his round shoulders and shuffled to his feet. “Don’t worry, Gita,” remarked Adjani, “The bath will do us all good.”

  They stepped out into the sullen rain and untethered Simba, who also had been crushing the pulpy pears in her massive jaws. The elephant greeted her new masters with a rousing trumpet and examined each one and his pockets as she knelt and let them board her. Then they were off, heading northward, climbing slowly upward toward the mountains.

>   Spence saw the land through the hanging white mists and noted that it had changed a great deal since Calcutta. The jungle had become forest of a different type; the greens were deeper, tending more toward blue in the misty rain. Sown in among the lower trees he spotted tall pines shooting up out of the foliage around them and he could smell their scent in the air. Spence guessed they had risen several thousand feet in altitude already, though the climb had been so gradual as not to be noticed.

  Nevertheless, he sensed a difference in the air—it seemed fresher and last night had been a little cooler than he remembered since coming to India.

  They rode at a good pace for nearly an hour, each one cloaked in his own thoughts, like Gita wrapped in his turban, trying to keep out the rain which slowly seeped into everything anyway.

  They came upon a small stream running across the road. Simba waded into it and then stopped and drank. She stood splashing her trunk in the water and blowing bubbles before squirting water into her mouth.

  Spence let her have her fun; he did not know when they would be able to stop for a drink again. As the elephant stepped out of the stream he felt a quiver run through the animal like an electric shock and she froze instantly in mid-step, trunk reaching out, wavering as she sifted the air for a scent.

  Up ahead the road wound sharply around a bend and was hidden behind a wall of forest. Spence could sense nothing that would make her react in such a way, but he knew better than to doubt an elephant’s instinct.

  “What is it? Why have we stopped?” asked Gita. His soggy turban dropped around his ears and eyebrows making him look like a waif wearing his father’s clothes.

  “Shhh!” hissed Spence. He gave a chop with his hand to cut off further discussion. He nudged Simba gently with his feet and she went slowly forward, with a ponderous, silent grace. He marveled at how smoothly and quietly the creature could move when she wanted to.

  They crept toward the bend in the road.

  Spence lay down on the elephant’s head and peered ahead as far as he could as they came around the trees. He saw in the road a few objects of undetermined nature and then he looked down and saw something he recognized well: a severed human arm, thumb missing, lay directly in the middle of the road. Bloodless and pale, it had been washed clean by the rain. White bone gleamed painfully from the torn end, and the arm itself seemed to indicate a warning. Halt! It said. Go no further!